Orpheus
Walk past the poor farmers's adobes and
fields full of cornstalks. The forest stands dense
and the beasts run wicked from fur torn battles.
Be weary, traveler, for their starved state
drives them to stalk and they crave and sweat
for warm blooded meat from all things
that wander slow by foot through this shaded land.
In a clearing shall appear a manse no man has built.
The man with paper creased skin and brittle grass
blade bones claims the fair woman with
fire hair as his daughter. They lie.
But call them friends and say, "This pilgrim
seeks to trespass the Quiet Land. Spirits lodge there,
mute from sorrow, but old dead whores bewail while children
forgotten before angels took census of their souls
crowd there, pray there, fail to forget their little
lives, and are ignorant that their land shall hold
them forever and a day." They shall not shy from
their duty. You must parade past seven course
feasts, gold uncountable, and wonder unnamed, but
never let your eyes grasp more than a corner glimpse.
Temptation dwells through these archways.
Silhouettes of stolen truth flicker from flame by
hidden hands, and embracing these lead only
to the return-less road of the Quiet Land.
Their eyes may linger over those stone steps. Descend
these. Your mouth shall dry, your innards seem to
rot, but struggle longer. Singer! You said you know
suffering as few have, but lifetimes
will pass by, and you shall sink stone from
stone till Time pities you, and brings you to the gate of
the Quiet Land.
The whores will screech for pleasure at you.
The ecclesiastics will praise this paradise at you.
The children will play regardless of you.
Walk away from them all towards the towering
throne. He shall notice your sweat, your breath,
the dirt on your feet. He hates men who trespass.
Singer! Raise your voice till melancholy strangles
his blood. Hope mercy and love fills him. You will be
asked to show faith towards the Lord of the Quiet
Land. Walk back to those stone steps and
do not gaze back to his throne. Doubt will
grow for no sound, no smell, no warmth ever
whispers from behind. Singer! never look back.
The Lord of the Quiet Land
desires love, demands faith, and damns those
who do not follow his will. For
proof of what befalls defiance
only look at the top of those
stone steps before you go downward.
A pillar of salt stands there who was
once my love.
In which a group of friends get together and prod each other to refine their craft.
Write monkey, write!
6 comments:
Note: I've made a few edits. I replaced common verbs (be, is, are) in some cases with stronger ones. There was some disagreement between subjects and verbs. And some things I changed because they were just repetitive or didn't sound as nice as I previously thought it did.
Jack,
I liked this poem quite bit and found it to be vastly superior to your last piece (which was perfectly fine in its own right).
In particular, I enjoyed the intense pacing of the poem and constant stress that was placed on Orpheus. I felt as though he was being pressured by all sides, at every step, during his trip to the underworld to save his dead wife.
Of interest is the fact that we
both selected Greek myths related to the underworld for our stories. Although, in terms of differences, your piece focused on love and mine focused on pain.
I am curious to know how or why you selected Orpheus.
Great job.
Also, this registered as my favorite part:
[The whores will screech for pleasure at you.
The ecclesiastics will praise this paradise at you.
The children will play regardless of you.
Walk away from them all towards the towering
throne. He shall notice your sweat, your breath,
the dirt on your feet. He hates men who trespass.
Singer! Raise your voice till melancholy strangles
his blood. Hope mercy and love fills him. ]
Thanks for the kind words.
Yeah, as I was writing my piece I noticed yours also utilized a greek underworld myth. A few months ago I was struck with the image of dead people having a feast of rock, dirt, and excretement and yelling at the others in the underworld that they were missing out on the heavenly feast. Oddly enough, that part, as well as 95% of the first draft got cut. I the first draft took me about three days to write, and when it was done, it was weak with too plain of language and no sense of the stress or pace that Orpheus must feel. Two days later I had the second draft which is more or less what is now on the site (plus three little edits). Right now I'm reading "Sin and Syntax" and it is improving my word usage quite a bit. This poem's language largely comes from suggestions in that book.
I realized I didn't really explain why I chose Orpheus. I also had an image of someone attempting to travel to the underworld by coming across a beautiful mansion in a dense, uninhabited forest and being feasted by shadow people who give him every pleasure in attempts to keep him from decending the stairs of their house that lead down. Even though these images specifically didn't connect to Orpheus, someone traveling to the underworld for a specific task was similiar enough to make it a retelling of Orpheus. That's the long answer, apparently.
decending the stairs that lead down. I'm redundant when i'm tired.
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